Strangeness and Charm
by drjekyllmshyde
Summary: A young woman and her husband move into a small village not far from Rouen, where a widow and her masked child live in recluse. Can she repair the damage the woman has done to her son before it's too late? Rated T for incidences of child abuse and neglect
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is very unlike anything I have written before and unlike anything I have read on this site. It will be a short project, and not in any way shape or form a romance. In short, I am very excited about it! The events take place many many years before Christine Daae and the chandelier incident, when the Phantom of the Opera is just a damaged little boy. Much of the story will be based on Susan Kay's Phantom, but it will not be necessary to have read Phantom to understand what is going on. Please let me know what you think!

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><p>I was twenty three years old when I first met little Erik Renard. Three years later he vanished from my life just as suddenly as he appeared. Whether or not his presence in my life changed me for better or worse I cannot be certain, but in those years that child touched my heart in such a way that I knew even then I would never be the same.<p>

In the spring of 1836 my husband moved us from the bustling city of Paris to the small, quiet little village of St.-Martin-de-Boscherville not six miles outside of Rouen. Andre's uncle, choreographer Jean-Louis Aumer had passed away in the village three years prior and left the house to us. It sat empty while my husband finished his schooling in Paris and for two years after while he began to practice veterinary medicine in the city. It wasn't until I lost our first baby that Andre thought it might be a good idea to leave the city we had met and fallen in love in pursuit of the cleaner air and smaller life waiting in Boscherville.

There could not have possibly been more than five hundred people living in Boscherville when we moved there, and our arrival was apparently one of the most exciting things to happen to the sleep little village in quite some time. Before I had unpacked a single crate women were all but lined up at our front door under the pretense of welcoming us to their town, but I knew better; having grown up in Paris, the most vain city in all of Europe, I can spot a bored housewife searching for the latest piece of gossip from a mile away. It wasn't long after the welcoming committee had faded into obscurity that the women returned with more food to console me in my grief.

In their defense, I suppose I was rather obvious back then. I did not take the loss very gracefully; it had taken us four years to conceive, but only a moment to lose the life I had wanted so badly. I so guilty, and even guiltier still when sweet Andre gave up his blossoming practice in Paris to move somewhere so obscure. There were nights I would cry myself to sleep, mornings I would wake up sobbing, days on end that I spent with no more energy than it took to push myself in the rocking chair I had bought to nurse our baby. But Andre never left my side for longer than absolutely necessary, and if he ever resented me for the move to Boscherville I never knew it. He was and had always been my knight in shining armor.

It was on one of my better days that I first met Erik. From the kitchen I heard a knock at the door, more timid than the bawdy pounding of women eager to be seen giving charitable cakes and pies to the poor city girl who had miscarried. I could hear Andre moving to get the door, a habit he had acquired since the miscarriage to spare me the embarrassment of being seen with puffy red eyes , and quickly moved to head him off. "I'll take care of it, darling," I promised, lifting up onto her toes to kiss him gently.

"Are you sure, Collette? Those women have been hounding us since the day we moved in, you'd think we were setting up a circus tent not a household…" he mused, and I smiled.

"Positive. If I don't start being a little more gracious the whole village is going to think I'm an invalid and it won't ever end," I teased him, and to my immense satisfaction he laughed and stepped aside to allow me to answer the door.

The woman at the door was far younger than I expect, no older than I was. She was a mousy little thing, sweet and as timorous as her knock suggested she might be. "Good morning, Madame. Is this Doctor Aumer's residence?"

That had been a surprise; normally women asked for the woman of the house. "It is," I promised, stepping aside to let her in. "I am Collette Aumer, the Doctor's wife. Can I help you?"

"Marie Perrault, Madame," she introduced with a curtsy. "I was actually asked to speak to the Doctor himself, if that's possible. It's quite urgent."

Fortunately, Andre had not gone far. He emerged from the study and offered the young woman his hand to shake. "I am Doctor Aumer, but unfortunately I'm not yet ready to begin taking on cases –"

"Please, Doctor Aumer. I wouldn't have come if it weren't very urgent. My friend's dog is ill, and her son is going to tear the house apart if something isn't done quickly."

This caused Andre to frown. "Well, if it's all right with my wife I suppose you may bring the dog over –"

Marie shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. I can't. You see, Erik won't let anyone touch her. The dog that is. I don't think she's very sick at all, but Erik is worrying himself into a fit."

"How old is the boy?" Andre asked, apparently as curious as I was about what sort of child could have the young woman so frightened.

"Five years old, Doctor Aumer, but very very old for his age. Please, I swear to you I am not exaggerating. You must come; the next closest vet is in Rouen, and I fear what will happen if I am gone that long."

Andre looked to me, the frown on his face deepening. "Are you going to be all right here by yourself for a bit?"

"I'll go with you," I offered, glancing between my husband and the mousy young woman at my doorstep. "If the boy is so protective of the dog a woman might make him more comfortable than a strange man he's never met."

Marie seemed hesitant, but Andre reassured her. "We've done this before, Mademoiselle Perrault. Collette is wonderful with children, especially the young ones. She'll put the boy at ease enough for me to examine the animal."

"…Very well," Marie conceded, and my husband and I closed the door behind us to follow her to a little cottage near the outside of the village.

It looked as though it had been charming once, romantic even. There was a white picket fence surrounding ivy-covered bricks and an overgrown garden. All of the windows were covered from the inside with thick dark curtains, and I wondered how anybody could possibly live what must surely have been total darkness inside. I can remember thinking how the property looked more like an unkempt mausoleum than a home; I could not possibly have known how close I was to being right.

We could hear shouting from the gate and the breaking of glass before Marie grabbed onto my arm with a far stronger gripped than I had imagined she would have. "There is something I didn't tell you before I invited you to come. Erik is… a special boy," she explained, carefully choosing her words. "He is not like other boys his age, in either behavior or appearance. Madeleine _never_ has guests over unless it is _completely _necessary. I beg of you, if you have any goodness in your hearts at all… do not stare, and do not speak of what you see to anybody."

I glanced up to Andre, wondering if he were as intrigued as I was but able to read nothing but concern for the situation inside upon his face. "You have our word," he promised, and Marie nodded before leading us through the garden and inside the front door.

It was like stepping into the eye of a storm. The house was a mess, but everything was eerily still and quiet at our arrival. Broken glass and splintered wood lie strewn across the living room, surrounding a woman my age who like the house she lived in had once been beautiful and elegant but had fallen into disrepair. She looked to us with such compelling, rage-filled eyes that I might have missed the child standing across from her had he been any ordinary boy.

But this child was far from ordinary. He was tall for his age by several years, and lean. It was hard to believe he was only five years old, the way he carried himself; I have seen soldiers and royalty with a less commanding presence than this little boy had.

As much as I hate to admit this even to myself, the most extraordinary thing about the boy and what I remember the most about that morning was the ugly black leather mask covering his face.

As stunned as we all were – the boy and his mother at the sight of strangers and my husband and I by the sight of the boy and his mother, I was the first to recover. "Marie tells me your name is Erik," I said gently, moving towards the boy where he stood by the lovely golden spaniel lying on the floor. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Erik. My name is Collette Aumer."

I don't know how I knew it since his face was completely covered save his bottom lip and chin, but the boy was immensely surprised at the manner in which I had addressed him. It was his mother who broke the silence next. "Half an hour of shouting and now in polite company he is speechless. Where are your manners, boy?" The woman snapped so harshly I could only blink; I had never heard anyone talk to a child in such a way.

The boy came out of his stupor and bowed hesitantly. "Madame," he addressed me, as though it were the first time he had ever been called to do so.

"Please, call me Collette," I offered with a smile.

"Marie, may I speak to you a moment?" The woman demanded suddenly in a voice that was almost too calm, causing the mousy woman to jump. "In private," she added, and the pair moved into a nearby room to talk in hushed voices.

"Erik, this is my husband Andre. He's a veterinarian. Do you know what it is veterinarians do?" I asked, and the boy only nodded.

"That is a beautiful dog you have, Erik. What is her name?" Andre asked, and the boy finally glanced away from me to eye my husband warily.

"Sasha. She's sick," he added, as if excusing the dog's impolite behavior as she lay whining on the rug.

"Yes, it looks like she is. Do you think I can maybe take a look at her? If I can figure out what's wrong with her I can hopefully make her feel better," Andre offered, and the boy's face once again turned to mine. This time I could see his eyes under the mask as the bore into mine, little yellow orbs that tried so desperately to read my intentions, searching for any ulterior motive Andre and I might have. After an impossibly long moment, he glanced back at Andre and nodded, stepping away from the animal to allow Andre closer.

I took the opportunity to move closer to the child as he watched my husband for any signs of ill intent. "You have a beautiful home, Erik. What does your father do for a living?"

"My father is dead," the boy responded so easily I was stunned. "Mama doesn't like to talk about him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," was all I could manage, effectively ending the conversation.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," Andre announced finally, moving over to us. "Sasha is going to be all right, but there is nothing we can do except wait it out. She has a bit of a stomach bug, that's all. Nothing serious. Just make sure she drinks a lot of water, let her sleep and she'll be just fine."

Erik relaxed visibly. "She's not going to die?"

"No, she will be fine. Just uncomfortable for another day or two."

Just then, the boy's mother came into the room closely followed by Marie. "Well, Doctor, what is the verdict?"

"Your son has done a very good job caring for her, she will be just fine," Andre promised, smiling down to the boy who looked quite pleased with himself.

"My son has done nothing but throw a tantrum since the dog first got ill," the woman snapped, and I couldn't help but glare at her at the way she tore the boy down. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please send me the bill,"

"It was my pleasure, Madame…?"

"Renard, Madeleine Renard," the woman answered opening the door to all but push us out. "Good day."


	2. Chapter 2

"Why do you suppose he wears a mask?"

Andre looked at me as I lay in bed ruminating on the day as I had been for an hour. "Well, I can think of a few reasons," he said finally, slipping into bed beside me and allowing me to curl into the crook of his arm where I so often slept.

"Well, he could just be an ornery little boy," he suggested.

"But did you see the way Madame Renard spoke to him? It was almost as though he were another pet, not a little boy."

"Honestly, Collette, if that boy is such a terror all of the time I'm surprised the woman hasn't left him at the abbey doorstep," Andre mused, and I stared at him astonished horror.

"Please tell me you're joking. He's only five years old and his only pet is sick! It's probably the first time he's ever dealt with something like this. And it's not as if he has a father to discipline him," or his mother, I thought, but I would never say such a thing aloud.

I had only been in the Renard household for a few minutes, but something did not sit right about that woman. The way she seemed like a withered statue, the wild, angry glint in her eyes… all over a child's fit! Not to mention the house shrouded in darkness, such pretty things inside while the outside made the house appear all but abandoned. No… something was not right with Madeleine Renard.

As the days wore on I busied myself with the seemingly never-ending duties of unpacking and decorating our new home, cleaning all the corners and crevasses that had not been touched since my uncle-in-law's passing three years prior. No matter how I tried to busy myself there were still days the burden of my loss was too heavy to rise from bed, but that was no longer the only thing plaguing my mind; not a day went by where I didn't catch myself wondering about that strange woman and her son, if only for a moment.

A week after our visit to the Renard home I found Andre in his study pouring over documents and decided to pique my curiosity once again. "Have you sent the bill for looking after Sasha to the Renard family yet?"

"Ah, no actually," he admitted, almost sounding embarrassed. "I suppose I should put it in the post today."

"Don't bother, I'll take it for you," I offered sweetly, hoping I wasn't being too obvious. "I want to go check on Sasha anyway, make sure she's doing all right."

"That's a very good idea. Send for me if she's still ill, won't you?" Andred asked as he rooted for the bill. When he handed it to me I kissed him pleasantly and bade him love before packing up one of the cakes I knew we would never be able to finish to take with me.

Today there were no shouts from inside the cottage, but none of the sounds I had expected from a home with a little boy either. There was no laughter, no song, none of the life that had filled the households of her friends in Paris with young children.

I knocked on the door and waited for an answer twice, hearing nothing. Well, that did explain a lot I mused. Of course the house was quiet; there was nobody home. I felt embarrassed for having been so terribly nosy, and admittedly more than a little ashamed for assuming the worst of a woman I hardly knew.

If I had turned the other direction, I would have left the Renard house that day and not have thought on that little boy again. I would have assumed no one was home and that I had imagined all of the ill-will raging between mother and son. As it was, when I turned I noticed a flash of movement from one of the curtains.

So someone was home. I moved back to the door and knocked again, calling into the house this time. "Hello, Madame Renard? My husband asked me to bring over the bill to look at Sasha and to check on her. I brought a cake; I thought we could have a piece."

There was no answer and no more movement from inside. I frowned and turned to leave, resigning to bring the bill and the cake at a later time when they were more willing to entertain when the front door cracked open slightly and a little masked face peered out.

"You're the veterinarian's wife," Erik stated, though his voice was curious.

I smiled and nodded. "Yes. How is Sasha doing?"

"She's much better, thank you for asking," the boy said, sounding stiff and rehearsed.

His voice was so dynamic. How was it possible for a child of five years old to have so much character in his voice, be so light and flexible one moment and stiff and uncomfortable the next? And it wasn't just his voice; Erik's annunciation was flawless. He completely lacked the clumsiness children so often express when they speak. Combined with his bell-like clarity of voice, it was like listening to an adult speak in a child's pitch.

"I'm glad to hear it. Is your mother at home?"

"No. I'm not supposed to open the door," he added as though he were confessing some great sin, tearing at my heart.

"Well, I certainly won't tell if you won't," I promised with a secretive smile, and the bit of Erik's face that I could see all but glowed as he nodded his agreement. "How long will your mother be out?"

"Probably until tomorrow. I think she went to Rouen on an errand."

I am sure my jaw dropped at that news; she hadn't told her son where she was going or even when she would be back? "Does she go to Rouen often?"

"Not very often. Once every few months," Erik said, far too casually. This was clearly nothing out of the ordinary for him, although it shocked me.

I recovered from my shock quickly. "Well, maybe you can help me then. I've been dying to try a piece of this cake. I was hoping your mother would share a piece with me, but maybe you would in her stead?"

The boy's eyes shined under the ugly black mask and he nodded eagerly, opening the door further to let me inside. The damage from a week before had been repaired, and the room was dark but immaculate. Vases of flowers filled the house with their fragrance, paintings of what must have been young Madeleine Renard and her dead husband hung on the walls along with several crucifixes which while beautiful only added to the cottages' mausoleum-like atmosphere. If Erik were not standing in the room with her, I never would have guessed a five year old boy resided in the house; not a single portrait of the boy hung on the walls, no toys were strewn about on the floor.

"The kitchen is this way," Erik urged, darting off into the next room in the most childish behavior I had seen out of the boy yet. I followed him into the room and watched as he climbed easily up onto the counter to fetch a pair of plates from one of the taller cabinets, marveling at his self-sufficiency. "Why did you bring Mama a cake?"

"Well, to be honest the whole village has been bringing us food since we moved here. There's another whole cake on the counter in my kitchen," I admitted with a smile. "I thought you and your mother might enjoy this one."

"Why did people bring you food?" Erik asked, eyes glued on the knife as I sliced two portions of cake before giving him the larger of the pieces. He began to eat with such voracity I couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been left alone without a proper meal and began to wish I had brought one of the hunks of salted beef from the pantry.

"Well, it's custom. Women bring food to new neighbors to welcome them. It's supposed to build community and start friendships, but I think it's mostly because women are nosy," I said with a grin, and Erik beamed in return.

"_You're_ not nosy," he said.

If only you knew, I mused. Something warm and solid brushed against my leg and I looked down into the large brown eyes of the spaniel my husband had come to treat a week before. "Why hello, Sasha. You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

What happened next nearly made me jump out of my skin. "Thanks to your husband, Madame," the dog answered in a delicate, feminine voice that nearly put my jaw on the floor.

My reaction caused Erik to giggle boyishly and my stare moved from the dog to his masked little face. "I think she fancies your husband," was all he said, though his eyes glowed knowingly.

"…You did that, didn't you? Erik how did you do that?" I demanded, and the boy seemed disappointed that I had discovered him so quickly.

"I have a book on ventriloquism. I'm getting very good," he bragged.

The more I learned about the boy, the more he confused me; not only could he read at five years old, he was able to understand and implement what surely was a difficult art. How was that even possible? "Do you read books like that often?"

"Whenever Mama isn't home. She doesn't like me to read anything but the Bible," Erik explained with a bit of a sneer. "She doesn't think it's natural that I can read so well."

"I'm sure Mozart's father didn't think it was natural that he was composing by your age either. Imagine how different music would be today if all he were allowed to play were hymns," I remarked, not quite realizing I had spoken aloud until I noticed Erik watching me with his head tilted curiously.

Then Erik stared into nothingness, clearly conflicted about what he was about to do. After a moment he pushed his chair away from the table and stood, taking my hand boldly and pulling me to my feet. I followed him obediently as he led me to the study, where stood a modest sized wall piano. He sat on the bench, feet not quite able to reach the ground in spite of his impressive height for his age. With long, skilled fingers he lifted the cover off the keys and without any introduction began to play.

To this day I can still remember every note of that melody. It plays in my head, fills my dreams and soothes my nightmares with its sweet, sweet sound. It filled me with more emotions than I knew existed, leaving me both exhausted and fulfilled. Never before have I been touched in such a way by music, brought nearly to tears in awe by something so simple as sound. If I had any doubts before, they vanished as those genius little hands danced over the keys – Erik was a special child, strange and different but so very, very remarkable.

I could say nothing after the music stopped, even when Erik looked up at me expectantly. His odd yellow eyes gleamed in the dark room like an animal's might, imploring me to give judgment over his performance. How could I have possibly denied him?

"Erik… Erik that was the most remarkable piece of music I've ever heard."

The boy grinned broadly, his chest puffing in boyish arrogance. "I know. Music is my favorite thing in the entire world. It flows through me like air and tastes even sweeter than chocolate cake," he smiled up to me before pouting some and glancing back to the keys, stroking them longingly. "Mama doesn't like my music. She likes it even less when I sing, but when I go too long without music it feels like drowning."

"Well, I adore your music. Should you ever wish to play and your mother won't let you, you are welcome to use my piano whenever you please so long as I may sit and listen," I promised, wondering even as I said it if it was a promise if it was a promise Madame Renard would ever let me keep.

Erik was both stunned and thrilled by my offer. "Really? May I?"

"Yes, of course you may. It would be an honor and a pleasure."

I spent the remainder of the day listening to Erik play at the piano, indulging him when he asked if I would play a duet with him even though I am woefully inadequate in comparison to his genius. He humored me though, politely correcting my gaffs in a way I suspected was uncharacteristic for him; in the short time I'd known him he tended toward arrogance over patience, but I suppose since I was indulging him he knew better than to flaunt his superiority. Before I knew it the sun was set and the already dark house was quickly growing darker.

I frowned gently ask Erik moved to light several of the glass lanterns about the house. "I should be on my way. My husband is likely wondering where I am."

Erik's shoulders slumped and the disappointment in his voice was almost too much to bear. "Of course. Thank you for the cake."

I wrung my hands for a moment, glancing at the door and then back to the boy – Andre wouldn't mind, not when I explained. "Why don't I make us supper first, and maybe we could have another slice of cake."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> gravity01 - Thanks so much for your review! I labeled it a tragedy mostly for the sad themes in the story, but also because the end will not be happily ever after for anyone involved. That being said, just because I'm not planning on a happy ending doesn't mean I'm planning on a hopeless one.


	3. Chapter 3

"Madame Aumer! Madame Aumer, wake up!"

Erik shook me insistently as I stirred slowly into wakefulness, confused by my surroundings before I remembered laying on the sofa to rest my eyes for a moment. I must have fallen asleep… what time was it? Andre would be worried sick.

"I'm awake," I promised groggily, sitting up and rubbing my eyes with one hand while Erik pulled me to my feet by the other.

"You have to hide!"

"Erik, what's wrong?"

"Mama's home!" He hissed, and suddenly I was wide awake.

I was far more worried for his sake than for mine; he had told me he was not allowed to so much as open the door. If Madeleine knew he had not only let me inside, but for how long I had stayed… what would she do to the poor child?

Suddenly I remembered the evidence of my visit. "Erik, the bill and the cake –"

At five years old he was already far more clever than I was in my twenties. "You slid the bill under the door, and there never was any cake," he insisted, and I nodded my understanding; I didn't know what he had done with the cake, but I sensed his mother would not have been pleased with him if she discovered he had eaten so much as a bite without permission.

Erik pulled me into the kitchen and all but pushed me out the back door of the cottage before pausing and hugging me tightly around my legs, pressing his little masked face hard into my lap. My heart ached and I crouched to hug him properly before placing my finger under his chin to bring his odd yellow eyes up to mine. "You're a good boy, Erik."

"Please come and see me again," he begged.

"I'll do the best I can," I promised, wishing I could promise him more. I would have promised him anything he wanted if I thought I could make it come true, but I was woefully limited and dared not make a promise I could not keep; the last thing this child needed was a broken promise.

Suddenly he stiffened and pushed me away again, disappearing behind the kitchen door. I heard Madeleine's muffled voice from inside and moved quietly around to the front of the house and through the garden, grateful for the curtains concealing my exit from the woman inside.

Andre was not alone when I arrived home. As soon as I opened the door he all but collapsed in relief and a pair of men in uniforms glanced between one another. "Thank God you're all right! Where have you been? I've been worried sick, I went to the police –"

I kissed him soundly to attempt to reassure him. "I'm fine, Andre. Erik was at home alone, I couldn't just leave him to fend for himself."

Andre sighed and turned back to the officers in our home. "Everything is fine now, Messieurs. Thank you for your time."

The look that passed between the men spoke volumes; they clearly had their own opinions about where I had been all night. My husband must have seen the sour look on my face, and he kissed the top of my head. "You should have come to get me, I would have stayed with you. Or we could have had the boy over here to stay."

"I wish we could have, but the poor thing was terrified about his mother finding out I had been over at all. He's not allowed to so much as open the door. Andre something is very, very wrong. When I left this morning he hugged me like I was the first person to ever show him a lick of kindness. And he was still wearing that little mask! Why would he wear it at home alone if he were just an ornery child? He was perfectly sweet with me. Timid, but well mannered –"

"Collette, what do you propose we do? He's not our child, Madame Renard can parent him as she sees fit. We've been living here for three weeks and you've only seen the boy twice. We don't know the whole story, not even close."

My husband was the smartest man I had ever met. It was part of what I loved so much about him; he had been the top of his class all through his education, including veterinary school. When he wasn't tending to patients and their owners he was continuing his education by reading and attending symposiums given by his peers. He was up to date on the research in his field and so many others. Andre had a big mind and an even bigger heart but unlike me his heart rarely got in the way of logic.

"Of course. You're right," I conceded with a small sigh and sat, glancing out the window. And he was right – it was none of my business. Wasn't this sort of nosiness what I resented the food-bearing women for? So why couldn't I shake my feeling of unease?

Then it hit me so suddenly and so hard I nearly cried at the realization. "It's just… She's a horrible mother to him, Andre. A horrible, horrible mother who probably never wanted him in the first place. Why does she get a child while I… while I..?" I choked, and immediately my husband was at my side wiping at my tears with his kerchief.

"Collette… Letta, darling, it's going to be all right. We'll have another baby. You're going to be a wonderful mother someday. Everything is going to be fine. Perfect, even. It just takes time," he promised pulling me against him comfortingly.

The following day Andre and I attended church for the first time since moving to Boscherville. In Paris the service was a wonderful chance to visit with old friends, meet new ones, and to keep one's fingers on the pulse of the city. I was happy to find that was one thing the little village had in common with the city we hailed from. Men talked business, women chatted idly about their children, husbands, and other women both before and after the service. The quiet hum of gossip just outside the walls of the abbey was comforting up until I became able to hear exactly what was being said.

"Three weeks and already they've been inside. What do you think happened?"

"Well, she has a dog, and the husband is a veterinarian – maybe it was sick?"

"Or maybe the child was sick and she couldn't find a real physician to treat it," one woman remarked, and I instantly knew who they were speaking of.

_It_. These women thought of Erik as _it._ A thing, lumped together with Madeleine's dog! The thought enraged me, but they weren't through.

"I heard it's the Devil's child. That's why she never comes to mass. Father Mansart ministers to them on his own time, God bless him, but it's useless."

One of the women nodded eagerly. "Something like that can't be helped. Madeleine should have thrown it in the fire as soon as it was born. I hear its voice seduces anyone who listens, even its own flesh and blood. Such an abomination shouldn't be allowed to survive –"

I was about to interject when Andre took my hand and quickly pulled me away. "Did you _hear_ them?" I hissed violently, glancing back over my shoulder.

"Why do you think I pulled you away?" He pointed out, all but dragging me down the road back to our home. "This is a small town, Collette; we can't afford to make enemies here. Say the wrong thing to one person and the whole village will turn against us. I'm the only veterinarian in town, but don't think these people won't call in someone from Rouen or even further if they don't like us; they got by before and they certainly can again."

I stared at him dumbstruck and ripped my arm out from under his hand. "Your _career_ is what you're concerned about? You heard them and you're worried about who is going to treat their animals?" I demanded.

Andre stopped and rubbed his temples, clearly stressed. "I admire your heart, Collette, I truly do. But that boy is not our problem. The people in this village, however, are. How am I supposed to pay the bills if nobody will hire me, hm? How are we supposed to eat? When we do have children of our own, how will we feed them or cloth them, send them to school? Whatever is going on with that family is strange, I'll give you that. But it's _not our concern_."

That was the first of many fights about the Renard family. I was torn; on one hand, Andre was absolutely correct about the nature of the village to which we had moved. Social grace was important in Paris, but here it would make or break us. With so few people in the town, one misstep would ruin him and me by proxy. We would have to move, something we neither wanted nor could afford so soon after having left Paris.

On the other hand was the child who had somehow taken such a strong hold on my heart. Erik was smart, prodigal, and clearly desperate for any measure of kindness. He had no allies, not a friend in the world but an aging spaniel. I had already seen what his loneliness could do, the rage it invoked when what little he had threatened to be taken away. He was capable of so much violence it caused two grown women to fear him, and even had Andre and me stepping lightly in his presence… but I could not find it in my heart to feel anything but admiration and affection for the boy. There was something special about him, something I couldn't quite place but that I was eager to protect and grow.

But how could I? I had no relation to the boy. I couldn't even consider his mother a friend; how could I ever be close enough to him to keep him from being harmed by the harshness of the people in this village?

Little did I know Erik was as desperate for protection as I was to protect him. Andre was out of town doing a personal favor for a friend back in Paris whose racing horse was due to foal any day. I decided to stay under pretense of keeping house since he couldn't know how long he would be away, but part of me simply wanted to be alone; we fought more and more often about foolish, meaningless things. It would be good for both of us to be apart for a few days, too long for each other and remember all the things that had made us fall in love in the first place.

I was readying for bed, already dressed in my night clothes and robe when I heard a knock on the window and very nearly jumped out of my skin. When Andre and I were first married one of our neighbors in Paris had been burgled, and the fear of a similar thing happening to us was born. I never even considered the possibility it might happen when I was home alone until that moment. Putting on my bravest face I strode to the window to throw back the curtains to threaten whoever might be outside with my absent husband's rage, but in the window at waist height glowed two yellow eyes like a cat's in the night.

My heart calmed in my chest as I opened the window and crouched to be level with the boy, resting my arms on the sill. "Erik, what are you doing out so late?"

"I'm running away," he announced, seeming proud of his decision.

Erik was not running away. He had no food, no spare clothes, had stolen no money from his mother to get by on. He was smart; even at five years old he would realize these were necessities. He would have planned and agonized over how to get by for days, maybe even weeks if he had time to come to my window and inform me of his departure. If he had decided to run away out of sudden necessity, he certainly wouldn't have had time to stop and tell me about such a thing.

Knowing the boy was not running away broke my heart more than the idea that he might; Here was a little boy so starved for attention and affection he was looking to a complete stranger to give him a reason to stay. "You don't want to run away, Erik."

"Yes, I do," he insisted passionately. "She hates me and I hate her. I never, ever, _ever_ want to see her ever again."

Now the boy was crying. I frowned deeply and reached through the window to cup his little masked face in my hands and wipe at his tears the best I could. When his breathing began to steady some and the frustrating left his stance, I smoothed his hair. "Come around to the front of the house like a proper gentleman and we'll have a cup of tea. Afterwards if you still want to run away, I can at least make something for you to eat before you go."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>I was torn between making this a really really long chapter or breaking it into two kind of smallish ones. I'm going to be away from home for a few days, so I decided on two smallish ones with the first one sooner rather than a long one later. The next chapter will be up late Saturday or early Sunday! For those of you state-side, Happy Thanksgiving! For those of you overseas - Happy Thursday! :)


	4. Chapter 4

Erik sat in my kitchen, every bit as flighty as a stray dog. The way he kept glancing at the doors and windows made me wonder what he expected; did he think I was going to hurt him? Send for the police and chase him out?

I set a pot of chamomile tea on the table and sat across from the boy, pouring us both cups of the steaming drink and watching as he glanced down into the cup hesitantly. "What is it?"

I blinked in confusion. "What is what?"

"This," he said, leaning over the cup and inhaling deeply to smell it.

"It's only tea. Coffee keeps me up at night, but I find chamomile helps calm me down when I'm having trouble sleeping," I explained, wondering how the boy had gotten by in France without ever having been exposed to chamomile tea. Tentatively he took a sip and I watched as his bottom lip twitched some; he seemed to enjoy it, but I couldn't be sure. That odd, ugly little mass covered up any true emotion. "Erik, before we speak any further do you mind taking off the mask? It would be easier to talk if I weren't trying to guess what you're feeling."

Even under the mask I could see the boy's eyes widen and dart fearfully around the room. "I can't. The monster will come."

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," I soothed. "There is no such thing as monsters. At least, not ones you have to be afraid of here," I amended, thinking back to the boy's mother and whatever had driven him away from home.

"Yes there are! I've seen one myself," Erik insisted, his yellow eyes wild with fear.

I frowned deeply. "Where did you see a monster?"

"In the mirror. Mama made the mask to keep the monster away, but it hurts my face. I took it off one day and Mama was very angry. She showed me the monster in the mirror, and it went away when I wore the mask," he explained, glancing to the windows and to the mirror I kept in the hall behind him.

"Monsters aren't real," I promised again, but his insistence made me nervous. "Mirror only show you yourself and the things behind you."

I moved from the table behind Erik to pull an oval mirror off the wall and bring it back. I held the mirror up on the table in front of him and stood behind him, smiling and wiggling my fingers at our reflection. "See?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably in his chair when confronted his reflection. "I'm wearing the mask. The monster doesn't come when I wear the mask."

"I have an idea. Why don't I keep looking in the mirror for any monsters while you take off the mask? That way if I see one you can put it back on before it can scare us," I suggested.

The boy was still hesitant, but he apparently could find no flaw in my plan. Looking as young and frightened as I had ever seen him, Erik reached up gingerly to untie the mask from around his head, glancing up at my reflection to make sure I was keeping my end of the bargain.

I was not prepared for the face of this strange little boy I had befriended. His face was like something out of a nightmare; it was stretched tight across his skin, yellow and misshapen like dripping wax. His flesh was so thin across his cheeks I could see every blue-purple vein fluttering underneath. His yellow, animalistic eyes were deeper set than I had imagined them to be, which explained why they seemed to glow when he wore the mask; an animal's eyes only seemed to glow in the dark after all.

Of course I had expected none of this, but perhaps the least expected feature of them all was the absence of any sort of nose. There was simply… nothingness in its place. A hole, like a gaping wound in the center of his face.

To this day I am ashamed of the way my heart clenched in fear at a five year old boy. I am just as ashamed of how slow I reacted; Erik saw his reflection before I could hide the mirror and froze, gripping the mask in his hands. "Do you see it? Do you see the monster?"

I gaped, struggling with how best to respond; I was not his mother. This was not my responsibility, not my place… but how could I do this? How could I convince this little boy with a broken face, a face that would cause anyone's heart to drop that he was not a monster when I myself had felt a moment of fear at the sight of him.

I covered Erik's hands with one of mine, pulling his gaze away from the mirror to look him square in the ruins of his face. It was sickening, unnatural… but he was still just a little boy. "Erik, what you see in the mirror… That isn't a monster," I said carefully.

Erik glanced back over his shoulder at the mirror as I lowered it carefully so as not to break the glass.

"But I saw—"

"I know what you saw, sweetheart," I continued. "Erik… that wasn't a monster; that was you. That is your face."

The boy shook his head fiercely, strange yellow eyes filling with tears. "No. You're wrong."

"Erik, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I had no idea why you wore the mask –"

"You're _wrong_," he cried, ripping his hands away from mine. "I'm not a monster."

"No, Erik, you're not a monster," I promise, my heart breaking as I reached out to grab his hands again while he did everything he could to avoid my eyes. "You're not a monster; you're a wonderful, clever little boy. You just… don't look the way little boys usually look.

He began to protest again, but I was desperate now. "No, you listen to me and listen well," I told him firmly. "You are not a monster. Anyone who tells you otherwise is the monster, Erik. They might think you're ugly on the outside, but they are hideous on the inside. Inside," I tapped my finger on his chest just over his heart. "Inside you are the smartest, cleverest, bravest boy I've ever met in my entire life. Do you understand?"

Erik stopped struggling and simply cried in defeat. I pulled him close and let him cry into my shoulder, knowing as he gripped me this was likely the closest anyone had ever held him in his life. I was crying too, and after what seemed like ages I finally took a deep breath and pulled away, wiping at my eyes. In a fluid motion, Erik strapped the mask back to his face and took a steadying breath. "I have to go."

I frowned. "You're not still planning on running away?"

When Erik nodded, I leaned back in my chair. "What did you and your mother fight about?"

"She never lets me do _anything_. Father Mansart wants to bring in someone from an architecture school in Paris. He thinks I could be a really great architect someday; Mother forbid it," he explained bitterly.

"So you decided to exact revenge by running away," I stated rather than asked, and his nodded his agreement. "Have you thought about where you'll go?"

"Paris, to the architecture school."

"Paris is very far," I pointed out. "Several days trip even if you move quickly. And what if the school doesn't take you? You're very clever, but there will be people who say you're too young," I pointed out, neglecting to mention his strange appearance.

The small portion of Erik's face I could see drew into a frown. "I didn't think of that."

"Even Mozart had his father with him when he traveled," I added, and Erik nodded his understanding. Suddenly an idea seemed to hit him.

"You could come with me."

I shook my head. "I can't, Erik. Even if I could leave my husband here, it would be considered kidnapping. I could get into very big trouble," I pointed out, and Erik tapped his foot thoughtfully. I spoke again. "I have a different idea."

"What?"

"Instead of running away, why don't you come and visit me more often? I can see about writing the architecture school and having them come here to talk to you."

Erik thought this over. "That sounds like a good idea."

I smiled. "I think so too. I'm starving. Are you hungry?"

When Erik nodded, I stood and began to gather ingredients for a quick meal. The masked boy watched as I worked, studying my every cut and pour as I prepared our meal. With a smile I pulled up a chair by where I stood so he could stand upon it and see better. "Do you ever cook with your mother?"

"No. Mama doesn't like me very much. She's not a very good cook," he added, watching as I spread the batter I had made for crepes thin on the pan.

"My father was a chef at the best restaurant in all of Paris," I explained, smiling down to him. "Well, maybe not the best. But I thought it was. I used to watch him cook all the time. I like to think my cooking is part of what won Andre over."

"How did you and Doctor Aumer meet?" Erik asked curiously.

I smiled at the memory. "I was eighteen years old. Mama decided it was about time for me to find a husband, so she set me up on a date with this lawyer she knew. It went _horribly_. He took me out for dinner and drank far too much. I agreed to go on a walk with him, thinking he would sober up with a bit of fresh air. He didn't. He started getting handsy and wouldn't listen when I told him to take me home. Andre was on a walk in the park with his sister and her dog and saw the whole thing. He pulled my date off me and chased him off, and the rest is history. He's always been my knight in shining armor."

"Was it love at first sight?"

"I think so. When he my date ran off and he turned back to ask me if I was okay we both sort of… stopped and stared at each other for a moment. It was like the whole world stopped for just a moment while we tried to wrap our heads around what we were looking at."

Erik considered this for a long moment while I filled the crepes with the season's first ripe berries and a bit of cream. "Madame Aumer? Do think I'll ever meet someone like that? Someone I love right away?"

"Please call me Collette," I insisted, before pausing to consider his question. "Well, I don't know. I think what Andre and I have is rare. Not many wives love their husband the way I love Andre. For many people marriage is just convenient," I explained, and Erik considered this thoughtfully as we sat at the table again to eat.

"If you and Andre love each other so much why don't you have any children?"

This question dropped my heart so far into the pit of my stomach I could only push my food around my plate. "Well, it's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"…We had a baby. Almost had one, rather. I lost it."

Erik tipped his head as he took a bite, confused. "How do you lose a baby? Don't they cry and squirm a lot?"

I chuckled some, halfheartedly. "Yes, yes they do. I lost him before he was born. It's called a miscarriage. I was about seven months along and one day I couldn't feel him moving anymore. The doctors weren't sure why it happened, just that it did."

This time Erik frowned so deeply I could see bits of his scarred flesh from under the mask. "How long ago?"

"Not long. A few months. That's why we moved here –" I had a sudden thought. "Erik, how did you know where I live?"

He looked down at his empty plate, embarrassed. "I sneak out at night a lot. I saw Doctor Aumer out late one night and followed him. He came back here. I'm sorry," he added quickly, and I shook my head.

"You don't have to apologize. I'm glad you came," I promised with a small smile. Erik smiled back, and I pushed my plate in front of him, taking his empty one. "Eat up. I'm going to fatten you up so quickly your Mama will wonder what happened to her son," I teased, and the boy grinned before tucking away my portion as quickly as he'd devoured his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** This isn't my best work, but I can't think of how to improve on it so here it is. I hope you like it more than I do!

P.S. Your reviews make me absolutely giddy. This story is way outside of my comfort zone, so I really really appreciate all of the encouragement. THANK YOU!

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><p>In the first week of February 1837, a minor miracle occurred; I missed my monthly bleed.<p>

My relationship with Andre had steadily improved, but I was not proud of why. I resolved to keep my feelings about Erik's mother to myself and to try my best not to judge her when I began to see the boy regularly. However my visits with Erik were not to my husband's knowledge. Business in the village proper was slow, but the surrounding country was filled with farms in need of a talented veterinarian during the mating season. Andre was out of town for a night or two every week; when he was, I would leave word with Erik at our arranged rock in his mother's garden that it was safe to visit.

Small changes in him were evident almost immediately. Erik became more child-like with every visit, more eager to play and explore. I knew almost immediately he was an intelligent child, but I never would have guessed just how smart he really was. He devoured books I would bring him from the library in Rouen, sketched masterful buildings while I clumsily drew vases and fruit, not only played but composed some of the most magnificent music I had ever heard, and often brought me clever little toys he had made from scraps of metal and glass he had found at his mother's home.

In spite of his enormous intellect, Erik still had a lot learning to do about the world. He was fascinated with people and the relationships between them in particular, demanding to know how I met nearly every person in my life and why I chose to befriend them.

As wonderful company as Erik was, I worried immensely how to best tell Erik that I was expecting a baby. Imagine my surprise when Erik solved the problem for me.

"Are you sick?" He asked one evening as I folded a chocolate egg yolk mixture into well-whipped egg-whites.

"No, sweetheart. Why would you think I'm sick? Now, pass me the ramekins."

"You look different," Erik explained, climbing up onto a nearby counter with catlike agility to fetch what I'd asked for. "Like you're worried about something."

With practiced delicacy I poured the soufflé batter into the ramekins, careful not to destroy the fragile mixture as I transferred the dishes into the oven and closed the door gently. "Now, we can't so much as breathe too close to the oven for the next three quarters hour or they'll never rise," I explained, ushering Erik out of the kitchen to give the soufflés peace.

As soon we moved into the sitting room, Erik lingered by the door. "If you were dying you would tell me, right?"

The desperation in his voice made my heart ache, and I quietly moved to my knees to be more level with him. "Of course I would, Erik. What makes you think I would keep something like that a secret?"

Erik threw his arms around my neck and buried his little masked face into my shoulder. I hugged him tightly in turn, needing no further explanation; he was afraid I would leave him and what might happen if I did. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm certainly not sick. In fact…" I added, somewhat hesitantly before pulling him back just enough to meet his gaze. "I'm quite the opposite of dying."

His head tilted some in confusion. "What is the opposite of dying."

"I'm pregnant," I said with a small smile, privately reveling in the word but still wary of his judgment.

"…Oh."

This was not a response I was expecting. I was expecting excitement, anger, apprehension… anything other than quiet understanding. "What do you think about that?" I prompted, sitting back on my heels.

Erik only shrugged noncommittally and would not meet my gaze. "You're upset," I noticed, and Erik shrugged again.

"I'm not anything."

"You can tell me what you're thinking. I promise I won't be angry."

The boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, still not meeting my eyes. After watching him expectantly for a long moment, he finally broke down and answered. "It's just… it's just that I want you to be _my _mother. Now you're going to be someone else's mother and you won't have time for me anymore, and I'll have to go back to Madeleine as my mother and I _hate_ her, I hate her and she hates me and now…" he sobbed, ending his ramble.

"I'm not going to stop seeing you because of the baby," I promised gently, reaching forward to stroke a tear off his masked cheek with my thumb. When Erik continued to cry and hold himself, I pulled him into my arms with a deep frown. "Erik… sweetheart, I wish every day God have given you to me instead of her. It isn't fair that she was given such a wonderful son while mine was taken from me. But I believe – I _know_ everything happens for a reason. You're destined for great things. Maybe the troubles you have with your mother are meant to prepare you for what is to come. Maybe they'll be the worst thing you ever face and the rest of your life will be beautiful. I hope beyond hope that it is, but no matter what happens you have a safe place in my home and in my heart," I promised, touching my chest over where my heart ached for him and the life he would know.

By the time the soufflés were ready, Erik had cried himself out. They were a great success, tall and tender to perfection although neither of us was in the mood to celebrate our culinary victory. We ate in silence, and I was nearly finished with my dessert when an idea struck me. "Why don't you try thinking about this in a different way."

Erik glanced up to me, perplexed. I continued. "Don't think of the baby as a replacement. Think of her as a sibling. A new playmate. She's going to look up to you, you know."

"…She is?"

I nodded with a smile. "Yes she is. Or he; I'm not sure if it's a boy or a girl. Either way, I have two older siblings; a brother and a sister. I worshipped the ground they walked on when I was growing up. You're going to be able to teach her so many things."

Erik seemed to like this idea and began to eat his soufflé with more vigor. "Do you think if I taught her to throw her voice now she could talk to us?" He suggested, and I laughed.

After that night, Erik was thrilled about the prospect of a baby. When he discovered that the baby was actually growing inside me he became very careful of me, insisting that I sit and allow him to make a late supper or dessert. In the short amount of time I had been teaching him to cook, Erik had become rather talented. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was; Erik was splendid at everything he tried.

I also should not have been surprised when in late May Andre discovered what Erik and I had been up to while he was away.

Just as I was placing dinner on the table, Andre dropped a folded card onto my place at the table. "Please tell me you did something to Madeleine Renard to make her lash out against you."

I blinked and picked up the card – I could almost read the passive aggression in the neat script.

"_You are cordially invited to the birthday dinner of Erik Renard. To be held on the thirtieth of May at five in the evening in the Renard residence dining room._

_Yours,_

_M. Renard"_

My heart sank in my chest as Andre continued. "She hunted me down at a client's house to give me this, demanding to know why Erik had asked only for you to be invited, and why just now. We met the boy last March and you hadn't made enough of an impression on him to be invited the last time. So why now when you haven't seen the boy for over a year?"

"I… I've been inviting Erik over to visit when you leave for Rouen or Paris. We cook dinner, play the piano, read, talk. He needed someone to care about him, and –"

"I don't believe this. Have you gone completely mad? That boy is _not your son!_ How many times did I tell you that? He already _has_ a mother. You can't replace our son with some little brat who doesn't like his own mother.

"If you had seen what I saw, if you'd seen some of the days he comes over with bruises or so numb to the world he barely moves all night… Something is _wrong_ with that woman. And Andre, his face… It's not normal. He has scars. God only knows how he got them, but that's why he wears the mask. He needs someone to care for him more than ordinary boys, but all he gets from Madeleine is abuse."

"Collette, listen to yourself! You have no relationship to this boy. You've only known him for a year, and already you're lying to your husband to visit him. I've heard of cheating wives less manipulative and conniving than you've been!"

"I never once lied to you," I defended, although my heart was heavy with guilt. "I just never told you the whole truth."

"Because you knew I would forbid it. I brought you here to keep you from going mad with grief after the miscarriage, but _this_ is madness. The woman I married was honest, considerate, practical –"

"I am all those things, Andre," I swore.

"You put a stranger's child in front of your own husband!" He lamented, moving out of the room and pulling on his coat.

I panicked. "Where are you going? You just got home."

"For a walk. Maybe to my brother's for the weekend," he admitted as he tied a scarf around his neck. I moved to pull my coat on as well.

"That's a wonderful idea. Paris is beautiful this time of year, and I haven't been back since –"

"I'm going alone, Collette. I need to be away from you for a few days before I say or do something I regret. "

I was crying as Andre walked out the door, unable to catch my breath.

I'm not sure how long I was in that state before Erik found me. He said nothing while I tried to cope with the way my life had fallen to pieces, overwhelmed by my complete and total lack of control. In a little over a year I had lost a son, my home, my friends, I was losing my knight in shining armor and I feared every second of every day that I might lose this new life growing inside me. I was powerless.

But in the eyes of this little boy, this child with the weight of the world on his shoulders, I was love incarnate. In Erik's world I was the only human who had ever shown him not only kindness, but care. That night it was his turn to pick me up out of the dust and show me the love and affection I so desperately needed in that time.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this," I managed after a while, whipping at my eyes. I don't remember how I got to the chair I was now sitting in, but Erik was curled in my lap like a dog eager to comfort its master.

"It's my fault. I'm the reason he left."

I shook my head and rested my cheek on the top of Erik's head, holding him tightly. "He would have found out sooner or later. I just wish he understood… if he met you, talked to you for just a while I know he'd see how special you are, that it's all worth it."

"We could run away," Erik suggested quietly. "You, me, and the baby. Then he wouldn't have to understand."

I laughed without amusement. "I can't do that, Erik. Even if I could make ends meet, it's not right. Marriage is a contract. A promise to stand by each other's side until death –"

"But your husband left," the boy reasoned naively.

It was all I could do not to cry again at the thought, but then another thought came to mind. "Erik, how did you know to meet me? I wasn't expecting him out today."

"Andre came to our house," Erik explained. "He told Madeleine you would come to my birthday. He sounded very upset, and I saw him get into a carriage; you live close enough to walk, even in the cold. When Madeleine fell asleep I came over to apologize for getting you in trouble."

I clicked my tongue at him in distaste. "It's not polite to call your mother by her first name, young man." I scolded, pushing back his hair.

"Madeleine isn't my mother. You are."

I closed my eyes tightly against a fresh onslaught of tears and rocked the boy gently in my arms.

I am an emotional woman, and have never pretended to be otherwise. My heart governs me in most if not all matters, but I am not unobservant. I knew as soon as my husband left our home a day would come when I would be forced to choose between him and Erik. I cried when he left because I did not know how I could possibly make such a choice.

I cried as I held Erik because I knew then with absolute clarity who I would chose, and what my choice would mean to everyone involved.


	6. Chapter 6

The scene as I approached the decrepit cottage on the edge of Boscherville was uncomfortably similar to my first encounter with Erik.

This time instead of causing me to hesitate, the shouting and ring of shattered glass hurried my pace. I let myself inside without bothering to knock, alarmed by the scene within.

I recognized Marie Perrault from church, every bit the shrinking violet she had been a year ago when she first showed up at my doorstep asking for my husband. She was pressed as a far against a wall as she could manage to be without being absorbed into the house, trying to keep away from the unfolding scene. Erik was unmasked, already scarred face bleeding and bruised and contorted in rage.

As horrible as Erik's face was, the rage that marred Madeleine's face was terrifying. She lunged at the boy viciously and I yelped involuntarily, afraid for his safety.

Erik glanced over at me and ran into my arms as I dropped the gifts I had brought for him and crouched to be level with him. Erik buried his bloody, haggard face into my bosom and I glared at Madeleine as she stalked towards us. "What in God's name is wrong with you?"

She seemed torn between continuing her rampage and stopping in utter confusion. "How can you let him touch you like that?"

"How can I comfort a little boy who's just been beaten by his mother?" I retorted.

"You've seen his face before," Madeleine concluded with rage. "You little shit, what did I tell you –"

When Madeleine reached down and tangled her fingers in Erik's hair to pull him out of my arms, the madwoman my husband saw in me came out fighting.

Even with two older and two younger siblings, I had never once struck another human being until that day. I hit Madeleine so hard across the face my hand stung and she released Erik to rub at her jaw. When the woman didn't retaliate, I turned my attention back to Erik. "Let's get you cleaned up. Where is the washroom?"

With considerable trepidation Erik pulled himself out of my grasp only enough to lead me to the wash room. I sat him on the vanity, pointedly ignoring the large sheet covering the mirror. It didn't take long to fill the washbowl and find a clean cloth to wipe Erik's face clean of tears and blood. "What happened?" I asked as Erik calmed himself.

"I was thinking about infinity last night. It kept me up all night trying to picture it. So I drew it. Four parabolas," he explained as though his logic were obvious. When he saw my confusion, his ruin of a brow furrowed in thought. "They're U-shapes, where the tips stretch out forever. If you draw four perpendicular to each other, they stretch out every direction forever. Infinitely. Mama saw my drawings and thought I was drawing spiders."

I frowned. "Why would it bother her that you were drawing spiders?"

"Spiders are ugly," he said quietly. "It doesn't matter that they eat worse insects; she thinks they're evil. That I'm evil too," Erik added with old understanding.

"So she tried to beat the evil out of you?" I asked, baffled by the logic.

"Yes… she means well," he said staring beyond me as I pressed a dry cloth on his cheek to dry it. "She doesn't want me to go to hell."

"Erik, you're only a child. A sheltered child at that. Nothing you've done in six short years could possibly warrant you going to hell," I explained, directing his gaze towards mine. "I don't care if you write with your left hand and start speaking in tongues, you are not evil."

"I do write with my left hand," Erik replied, uncomfortably. "Mama hates it when I do. She makes me use my right hand and then gets angry because my writing is ugly."

"With practice you'll get better," I promised, squeezing his shoulders comfortingly and deciding to change the subject. "I brought you presents."

"…more than one?" Erik asked hopefully, and I smiled.

"Two."

When we emerged from the washroom and made our way back to the sitting room, Madeleine sat up quickly from one of the sofas. "How is he?"

"Ask him yourself, he's right here," I replied, put off by the way the woman addressed me instead of her own son.

She shifted uncomfortably, wringing her hands. "Are you well?"

Erik merely nodded, squeezing my hand tightly. Madeleine relaxed some and regained her former posture, arrogant and in control while I watched utterly baffled by her reaction. "Let's eat. I've been cooking all day."

When she spoke she held out that ugly black mask, forcing Erik to release his grip on me to fetch it and slip it on with heartbreaking ease.

Birthday dinners as I was familiar with them involved recalling the story of the birth, reminiscing on the person's life. Birthdays were occasions for smile and laughter, all around loving occasions to be surrounded by friends and family. Erik's birthday was a silent affair, with no other children present. Only myself, Marie, and the hard-as-stone Madeleine Renard.

"The lamb is wonderful Madeleine," Marie praised suddenly, desperate to break the silence.

"Collette makes better," Erik remarked quietly. Instantly Madeleine glared at him and Marie turned to me with a desperate look.

I intervened. "My father was a chef and my husband likes to eat," I explained. "I get plenty of practice."

"Your pregnancy seems to be going well," Madeleine said suddenly, changing the subject. "You must be excited."

My smile was pure and involuntary, although I was surprised by her choice of topic. "Yes, I am. It will be our first."

"And how long have you and your husband been married?"

"Oh, about four and a half years."

"Interesting. I got pregnant right after my husband and I were married. Why did it take you so long?"

I glared at her long and hard from across the table. "It didn't. I miscarried."

"I should have been so lucky," Madeleine murmured.

Before I could object, Marie spoke and stood to gather up our dishes. "Let's let Erik have his gifts, shall we?"

Erik sat near me, inspecting the two wrapped parcels I had brought with me. "What are they?" He asked, and for the first time since arriving I laughed.

"I can't tell you. It will ruin the surprise."

"I hope you didn't spend too much money on my son," Madeleine remarked.

I ignored her and handed Erik the first package. He took it curiously, inspecting the paper wrapping carefully before peeling it away without tearing a single corner.

The leather envelope inside contained fine parchment, already lined and awaiting some artful composer to fill it with music. Erik's eyes widened beneath the mask. "It's blank!"

"You can practice copying scores onto it, or even write your own compositions," I suggested.

"You may copy hymns and psalms, but nothing secular," Madeleine said firmly. If I didn't think Erik would find a way to work around her order, I would have protested.

Instead, I handed Erik his next gift. "To compliment the parchment," I explained as he opened the smaller package.

In his hands he held a thin wooden box, elaborately engraved on the lid. Opening the box revealed vial of fine black ink, red wax, a seal, and a quill with several fine silver nibs.

"Wow," he breathed, running his fingers over the feather of the quill. "It's perfect."

"What do we say, Erik?" Madeleine prompted.

"_Thank_ you," Erik said, throwing his arms around my neck. I hugged him tightly in turn.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

* * *

><p>I was used to rumors. Living in a big city like Paris meant there was always someone, somewhere who disliked you enough to spurn your name. Living in a village like Boscherville meant that someone was very close to home and likely knew everyone you were acquainted with. Even knowing this, I was horrified at how quickly I found myself the victim of a malicious rumor.<p>

It started after mass the Sunday following Erik's birthday. Andre was back from Paris, less talkative than usual but I was grateful he had come home after so little time. At four months pregnant I was just beginning to show under my dresses and was all but glowing I was so thrilled. But even on Andre's arm and happy as I'd ever been, the whispers nearly froze me in my tracks.

"I hear Renard's demon is the father."

"My husband saw the boy leaving her house in the middle of the night while her husband was away –"

"Do you think she knows?"

"Even if she was raped she'd know. Not that I think she was raped; I hear he can seduce anyone with his voice."

My grip on Andre's arm tightened. "Andre…"

"I hear them," he said tightly, quickening his pace. I couldn't tell whether it was for my sake or his.

I was crying by the time we arrived home. Andre sat me down, but did not join me. "Where are you going?"

"To give those harpies a piece of my mind."

When my husband returned, I had regained my composure. It was warm outside, but his demeanor chilled me to the bone. I said nothing as he sat by my side. After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Before I say anything else, is there even the remotest possibility it could be true?"

My jaw just about fell to the floor. "Excuse me?"

Andre held up his hands defensively. "That's all I needed to know, I believe you. I just needed to hear it," he promised, and my temper cooled. "I have some… bad news," he added, carefully.

My heart sank. "…What did she do to him?"

"There was an exorcism last night, into this morning. Apparently after you left the supper the boy went completely mad. He started after his mother, speaking in tongues, throwing his voice. He had been drawing monsters for weeks, stealing clocks and watches to make mechanical monstrosities. Mademoiselle Perrault fetched Father Mansart from the abbey when the boy threatened to burn the house to the ground with everyone inside if Madame Renard touched him again."

A hand flew to my mouth. "Oh God. Oh my God, are they all right?"

"They're all alive, at least. Erik suffered the worst of it, as these things often go. Collette, the holy water burned his skin. So did the cross. It took Father Mansart and another priest to keep the boy pinned to the bed. I don't think – Collette, stop!"

I was on my feet and moving towards the door before Andre could stop me. I knew he wouldn't follow – our bond was not as strong as that, not anymore. He would let me go, allow me to dig my own grave.

And by God, would I dig it.

I didn't bother to knock on the door of the Renard cottage, though even if I had there would have been no answer; Madeleine was not at home. My heart filled with dread as the possibilities began to flood my mind – the supposed exorcism had killed him. It was not unheard of for the victim of a possession to die during the cleansing, especially the young and weak.

Having no idea where Erik's bedroom was I began to check ever room, becoming increasingly frantic. At the very end of the hall at the top of the stairs I spotted Sasha looking morose against the door and I knew I had found the right room. I stepped over her and all but ran up the second set of stairs into the attic.

Erik's room was every bit as wretched as I imagined it would be. The only furnishing was a chest I assumed held a sparse wardrobe. There was no bed, no toys, no mirror, only drab curtains covering the one window in the room and a pile of blankets on the floor.

There was no sign of the boy. I leaned against the door, holding my head in my hands in despair. I should have known it would end like this. I should have known he would not live to old age, but I still was not prepared for the sinking feeling of loss.

Fortunately, the feeling was quickly replaced by one of relief. "Mama?"

Something moved under the pile of blankets and my heart leapt in my chest. "Erik!"

I was at his side in an instant, sitting him up to look him over. Erik was thinner than ever, taller even than the last time I had seen him only days before, and completely, utterly broken. "Erik, it's going to be okay. I'm here now sweetheart, it's going to be all right."

Erik shook his head. "It's never going to be okay. I'm a monster."

"You're not –"

"I am!" He sobbed. "It burned, Mama. The water and the cross burned."

As he spoke, he pulled up his sleeves to show me the still raw marks on his arms. "They think I was speaking in tongues. They wouldn't listen to me in French, so I tried Latin. Father Mansart has been teaching me Latin since I can remember," he offered as I gathered him into my arms.

"I don't know why the water and cross burned," I admitted quietly, rocking him. "Or why Father Mansart forgot you know Latin. But I know you are not a monster as surely as I know the sky is blue."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Only a handful of chapters left! I am strongly considering a sequel though...


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: Thanks to the people who let me know the trouble they were having viewing this story! Regardless how you feel about this chapter or the story in general, could you please let me know that updating it at least worked this time? Thanks so much!**

* * *

><p>Cecile was born on the second day of October that same year. The labor was long and difficult, but the little angel I had been waiting for my entire life finally arrived.<p>

She was perfection. Her skin was smooth and soft as the flesh of a peach, the color of cream. Her hair was golden blonde that I knew would darken into Andre's light woody hue as she grew older since my hair had always been more the shade of dirty water. But the little angel had my eyes as bold and rich a blue as a deep lake in winter. Andre wondered if perhaps they would turn brown like his own when she aged, but they were too like mine to even consider the possibility.

I think with very few exceptions new mothers are convinced their child is the single most remarkable being on the earth, and I was not immune to my daughter's charms. Her chirps, squeals, and gurgles were the most beautiful sounds I had heard next to Erik's music. I could and often did spend hours watching her while she slept, stroking her plump and rosy cheeks and wondering what she dreamt of being so little in a world that was so big.

I did not anticipate the way in which Erik fell almost as deeply and irrevocably in love with her as I had.

To my surprise, Andre was the one who suggested I invite Erik over to meet Cecile. We had grown close again since the birth of our daughter, and I suppose he thought the boy posed less of a threat to our relationship now that I had flesh and blood of my own to care for.

I held Cecile against my breast while she slept and smiled welcomingly to Erik as he approached. "It's okay. She won't bite," I promised, amused at his anxiety.

Erik moved to the arm of the chair I sat in, glancing at Cecile over my arm. "She's so small."

"Have you ever seen a baby before, Erik?" Andre asked, much to my surprise.

The boy shook his head. "Only the cherubs in books and stained glass. She looks just like one."

"She's an angel. All she's missing are the wings," I said stroking her rosy little cheek. Her head turned towards my hand, and Erik watched in awe.

"She doesn't look real. It's so strange to watch her move."

"Would you like to hold her?" I offered, and Erik glanced up at me in surprise.

Surprised, Erik glanced from me to Andre before speaking. "May I?"

At Andre's nod of approval, I carefully passed the sleeping newborn into Erik's arms. She stirred but settled quickly with Erik holding her as though she were made of glass.

"She smells like milk and flowers," he said after a moment, unable to take his eyes off her.

I laughed and took Andre's hand when he rested it on my shoulder. "Andre picked every wildflower from here to Rouen and put it in the nursery. I sit in there while I feed her so I'm sure it's rubbed off."

As Erik held Cecile, Andre patiently answered his questions about what the babe ate and where she came from, how much she slept, whether she could talk yet.

When Cecile began to fuss I took her back into my arms before Erik could worry too much.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt her?"

"No," I promised. "She gets hungry about this time of night. I'll feed her and then put her to bed."

I couldn't refuse Erik when he asked to be the one to put her to bed for the night. He carefully placed her in the bassinet, staying by its side to watch as her blue eyes began lidded and heavy and her cupids-bow lips puckered in sleep. I was watching him watch her when Andre wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder.

"She's beautiful," I whispered, and Andre kissed my cheek.

"You're beautiful."

I chuckled and turned in his arms. "Why did you suggest I invite him over?"

Andre held me and considered this. "Well, for several reasons. For one I knew you'd have him over weather I approved or not and I'd rather not fight with you right now. For another, I'd rather supervise him with her."

When I frowned, Andre kissed me gently. "He's a six year old boy, and she is our world. Of course I'd rather supervise him than not," then he took a breath, as if debating whether to continue. "I also think this may be the only chance he'll ever have to be exposed to an infant. God knows Madeleine won't be having another by her choice or not, and Erik…"

There was no need to say more. I had told Andre about Erik's face long ago, of the physical scars and the emotional ones that were already so deeply etched into the boy. As much as I loved the boy, I very much doubted he would ever know more than the affection I felt for him as a mother. He had no friends besides an old dog, no steady interaction with children remotely close to his own age. He would grow up not only physically deformed, but having no idea how to forge and maintain friendships or romances. I had no doubt he was capable of forging strong bonds, but God how I worried his solitude would follow him through no fault of his own.

It was several weeks before I saw Erik again. I thought about inviting him by several times during those weeks, but Andre and I had family over to meet the new addition to our family. Even if Andre would have been all right with having Erik by with just the two of us in the house, I couldn't subject the boy to our family and the questions that would arise.

When life began to settle down and Andre was away on a farm for the birthing season, I bundled Cecile into a sling around my neck and set out into the cool autumn evening. I only intended to leave Erik by our usual rock in the garden, but sounds from within the house stopped me in my tracks.

The cry of an infant surely no older than my own daughter came out of the house, quickly followed by the shuffling of footsteps and a soft coo of a mother soothing her child.

Madeleine had not been pregnant during Erik's birthday in May. It was only early December; was it possible to go through an entire pregnancy in seven months? But if the baby wasn't hers… where had it come from?

I had no choice but to knock at the door and discover the source of the sound. Immediately the crying stopped and the curtain shifted slightly. Though Erik's face was impossible to read, I could sense his surprise at my presence so late at night. The door opened, and Erik's little masked face peered through. "What are you doing here?"

The shame and alarm in his voice worried me. "Erik, I heard a baby inside," I explained, cradling my own infant closer to me. "Whose baby is it?"

"Erik? Who is at the door?"

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Madeleine's voice. "Nobody. Go back upstairs," he commanded with frightening authority, but not before the door opened further and Madeleine stood over him.

She smiled so genuinely my blood ran cold; the last time I saw this woman I had struck her and now she was smiling as though we were sisters? "Collette! How wonderful of you to stop by. Please, forgive my son's manners; come inside, make yourself comfortable. Erik, be a dear and start a pot of tea for Madame Aumer."

The way Madeleine spoke to me and to Erik, her ease and wakefulness so late in the evening, Erik's nervous but polite obedience… what in God's name was going on here? I had no choice but to step inside and play along. "I was just… in the neighborhood and heard… heard a baby," I put forth tentatively.

"I was wondering when you were going to bring your little darling over to meet her future husband," Madeleine grinned, and I glanced at Erik for answers as he entered the room with the tea service. He refused to meet my eyes even when he put the service down upon the table.

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand you," I said after a moment, holding Cecile tight. When I glanced down at her I realize she had woken up, but did not stir or make a sound. It was a though she knew my unease and had no desire to add to it by fussing.

"Look at her," Madeleine cooed, sitting by my side to watch Cecile with surprising affection. "She's stunning, Collette. She's got your eyes, you know. I never told you this but when I first met you I thought you had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. I was very jealous. I thought maybe if I'd had eyes as lovely as yours, Charles won't have left me."

My brow furrowed; hadn't I heard Erik mention once that his father was dead?

Madeleine continued. "Of course Erik and Charles both have his eyes. Tawny, almost like a cat's wouldn't you say?"

"Charles is..?"

"My son. Didn't you get the letter? I asked Erik to bring it to you."

Again I looked to Erik, but his eyes were pinned to the ground. "I've been very busy entertaining family the past few weeks," I explained. "I haven't had a chance to see Erik."

"Well that's quite all right. I just put Charles back to bed, but come and take a look at him," she offered, rising to guide me eagerly through the house. I followed obediently upstairs into what I assumed was the master bedroom with its lovely Louis-Philippe furnishings and a small bassinet in the corner. "Go on," she urged me, smiling lovingly at the bassinet. "I don't want to crowd him and wake him. He fusses terribly when he's woken before he's ready."

I approached the bassinet, unsure of what I would find there. I knew she had been seeing an older doctor who moved into the village recently; perhaps he had impregnated her out of wedlock? Perhaps the child looked like Erik and the woman had finally come to accept his appearance? Perhaps the child looked like Erik and the woman had gone completely mad and was in denial.

Peering into the bassinet, my heart sank like a cold stone into the pit of my stomach. The child, this Charles I had heard crying from the garden, the infant that had so change Madeleine was a statue. A little shepherd boy nearly a food tall and made of stone stared out into the room with unblinking eyes, wrapped in a blanket as though to keep off the cooling night air.

I knew at once Madeleine had gone completely mad; and worse yet I knew it was by no fault of her own.

Erik could make a dog speak like a woman, throw his voice and mimic someone well above his age and not even his own gender. Making a statue cry exactly like my Cecile, mimicking the whimper of a hungry newborn… it would have been nothing to him. Child's play of the most manipulative, disturbed kind.

I backed away from the bassinet, clutching Cecile as though she would keep me from drowning in my heartbreak; Erik was responsible for this. My little Erik, the boy I had loved and defended from tyranny for nearly two years had somehow found a chink in his mother's armor and was deftly exploiting it.

He was standing in the doorway when I turned, looking so many years beyond his age it frightened me. Cecile sensed my fear and began to whine. I shushed her gently, and nearly jumped out of my skin when an identical wine sounded from the bassinet behind me.

Madeleine rushed to the cradle and cooed, scooping up the horrendous statue and wrapping it tightly in its blankets. I was nauseous, chilled to the bone and more than ready to leave. Erik all but filled the doorway, forcing me to push past him as the infant's cries behind me only grew louder.

Sleep never found me that night. I paced for hours before lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. This was not something that should have even occurred to a young boy, no matter how abused. How long had this been going on, how many more things had Erik done to completely shatter a strong woman's sanity so thoroughly? Was the doctor she had been seeing aware of her state? Was he aware Erik was the reason?

And why would Erik ever do such a thing? He had renounced Madeleine as his mother, behaved as though she were nothing more to him than his landlady… if she really meant so little, why play such a cruel trick?

There was no doubt Erik was benefitting from this regardless of his reason. Madeleine was much more civil to him in her maddened state than I had ever seen her before. Even so, it was not real. Her life was an illusion, and she the puppet being controlled by a master puppeteer.

But what could I do? I had done everything in my power to mother Erik, to give him the attention and affection he had so desperately needed. There was nothing more I could have done for him short of stealing him away from Madeleine for good. He had made this decision on his own, in spite of my attempts to love and guide him into a normal childhood.

It was the first time I had ever considered Erik's troubles extended beyond his home. And the first but not last time I wondered if his emotional scars were as deep and organic as the scars on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't until I discovered Erik sitting at my kitchen table that I remembered the note I had left in his garden inviting him over the previous night. Andre wasn't due home until morning, but for once I wasn't sure if that fact made me more or less comfortable with the boy's visit.

"You weren't supposed to see," he said, tawny eyes glued to the table.

A part of me wondered if someone had forced him to come. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since I met Cecile," Erik confessed, finally looking up from the table. When his eyes caught mine, I could see even beyond the mask that they were filled with tears. "She never treated me like you treat Cecile. She never held me, never fed me. She hated when I so much as looked at her. I just wanted to see…" he trailed off.

I looked at him expectantly, and Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I just wanted to see if she could. If she just couldn't be a mother, then it wouldn't be my fault," he explained.

"Erik, what you're doing is wrong," I stressed, although it was hard to stay firm; His actions were wrong, but his intent was heart retching.

"Nobody got hurt!" He exclaimed passionately. "She's happy, I'm happy, Charles is happy –"

I blinked, confused by his response. "Charles isn't real, Erik. You made him up."

"Madeleine doesn't know that."

"You have got to stop this! It's cruel and manipulative," I stressed.

"Why should I? I don't have to do anything you say; you're not my mother," Erik spat, standing to leave. I caught him by the arm and pulled him to face me, clasping his shoulders when he tried to squirm out of my grasp.

"Erik Renard, you listen to me and listen well. I love you like a son. Whether you choose to love me like a mother is entirely up to you, but I should think after two years you at the very least can acknowledge that I have nothing but your well being in mind."

The boy said nothing and refused to meet my eyes, so I continued. "Do you know what I think? I think you _wanted_ to be scolded. You knew very well before you came today that I did not approve of what you are doing to your mother, but you came anyway."

"I don't _care_ what you think!" Erik spat, but large tears were beginning to well in his eyes.

"What you are doing is wrong," I said again, firmly. "Whatever Madeleine says or does isn't real, Erik. It's all something you've forced her into. For better or worse, she doesn't feel any differently for you than she did before you started playing this twisted game. Now is the time for you to show what kind of man you're going to be. Are you going to be the sort of man who gets what he want honestly, or through deceit and manipulation?"

I let Erik cry, but stood my ground. It hurt to see him so upset, but I knew if I enabled this type of behavior so young it might never end. That thought stung more than the heaviness of his tears.

Erik left that night without ever answering my question. He was smart, far smarter than an ordinary child his age, and I knew he would think on it long and hard before making his decision. And really… I couldn't blame him. From where I sat it was an easy choice, but my life had been blessed. I had a mother and father who loved me, siblings to model my behavior after, friends, a husband who for all our troubles recently I loved dearly. Up until that point in my life a miscarried pregnancy and moving away from Paris had been the most difficult things to happen to me.

In six years life had already given Erik more heartache than I hoped to ever know. If deception granted him a small happiness, how could I blame him for being hesitant?

Weeks later, I was beginning to think Erik had made his choice and had chosen to continue with his deception against my advice and was too ashamed to see me. I was outside in the front of the house playing with Cecile in the light snowfall when I spotted Erik lingering like a ghost in the shadow cast by setting sun against the house.

"Good evening, Erik," I greeted cordially, curious but in too light a mood to be as guarded as I probably should have been given our last conversation.

"Collette, Cecile," he greeted in turn, shifting uncomfortably. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's all right," I promised, hating the way he used my name when he knew I was upset with him rather than calling me Mama as he was prone to otherwise. "She's still too little to be out here for long in the cold, I was just about to head inside and put on tea. Would you care for a cup?"

His masked head shook, and I realized suddenly he seemed even taller than the last time I had seen him only weeks before. "I just wanted to say I stopped pretending the statue was real. It took a while for things to get back to normal. But they are."

I frowned gently and wrapped my shawl tighter around Cecile. "I'm glad to hear that, Erik. Not that things went back to the way they were," I clarified. "But that you made the right choice. Are you sure you wouldn't like some tea?"

"Madeleine doesn't know I'm gone."

"Just one cup to warm you up before you go, then," I insisted, thinking he looked leaner than I remember him in addition to taller. I resolved to send him home with some of the lamb I'd made for supper in addition to tea.

Erik accepted my offer, but lingered near the door of the kitchen until I put Cecile in the crib I had moved into the kitchen to keep her up at hip height while I cooked. As soon as the girl was down, Erik was hovering by the crib.

Neither noticed while I watched them interact through the bars of the crib. Cecile was three months old, and just starting to notice the world beyond Andre and I. When I spoke with her or sang she often gurgled and chirped in response, delighting in the sound of my voice as much as I delighted in her squeals and giggles. She watched Erik now, eyes fixated on his masked face in hunt of the happiness and approval she so often saw in mine and Andre's faces. When she could not read him, she reached her tiny hand through the bars to touch him. Erik drew a sharp breath and jerked back away from the crib. Cecile began to whine in frustration, unused to Erik's response.

Erik was just as distressed by her response as she was by his, and ventured forward again. Cecile reached as far as her arm could manage, and after along moment of hesitation Erik came close enough to allow her tiny hand to rest on the black leather of his mask. Cecile's deep blue eyes lit up at this concession, and she squealed in excitement. Immediately the little of Erik's true face that could be seen lit up.

"I think she likes me."

"Yes, I think she does," I agreed, amused.

"Would it be all right if I brought her a present?" He asked, reaching into the crib when Cecile's other hand pried his fingers off the bars to inspect.

"Of course it would. I don't want you spending any of your own money though, what will it cost?"

Erik looked up at me without moving away from my daughter's demanding grasp. "Oh, it won't cost anything. I've already made it. I just think she would like it is all."

"You made it?" I asked, taking the kettle off the fire when it whistled.

The boy nodded. "It's nothing special. Just a music box."

"Where did you learn how to make music boxes?"

"I took apart one of Madeleine's and studied it. That's really the best way to learn things you know. When doctors want to learn about a body they dissect corpses; when architects want to learn about a building they can go right inside and look at the foundation and innards. I wanted to learn how to make a music box, so I took it apart."

I chuckled. "Well I certainly hope you put it back together in better working order than a corpse is reassembled."

This caused Erik to grin. "It works even better. It plays a different song every time you wind it up, now. Madeleine thinks it's unholy," he added with a bit of a sneer.

"Well I can't wait to see it," I promised, pouring us both tea.

* * *

><p>Erik brought my daughter gifts from the very next visit until his very final one. A remarkable little music box was first, carved from cherry wood with an intricate ivy pattern gracing the lid. Like his mother's box he had reassembled, the one he brought to Cecile did indeed play a slightly different melody each time I wound it. I could not for the life of me figure out how it was done, and when asked Erik would only smile and insist it was magic. Over the weeks he brought her a papier-mâché ballerina, a mobile made of shards of glass he had tediously smoothed to a safe edge, and even once brought her a ribbon to tie about her sparsely covered head as blue as her eyes. He talked his mother into buying it for him in return for a month's worth of weeding the ugly skeleton of a garden surrounding the house. Some days his gifts were more extravagant than others, but over the course of nearly a year I lost count of how many sweets, toys, and trinkets he brought to amuse her.<p>

I no longer had to invite Erik into my home in order to see him. He now came and went as he pleased, regardless of whether Andre was there or not. Andre seemed to have developed a quiet understanding of my relationship with Erik, though I knew he still felt more comfortable being home when Erik visited than finding out the boy had been by while he was gone.

At first I thought nothing of Erik's bold new insertion into my life, nor of the increasing frequency of his visits. On one Sunday morning, however, I caught another glimpse into the life Erik so carefully guarded.

For the first time in the nearly three years since I had moved to St.-Martin-de-Boscherville, Madeleine attended the public mass. And she did not attend it alone.

I was not the only one to notice this stark change attendance, and was quickly pulled aside by a group of women eager to gossip. "Is it true the boy is dead?"

"Excuse me?" I sputtered, wide-eyed. Surely they weren't speaking of Erik? I had only just seen him on Friday…

"You see him more than any of us," one of them reasoned, though how they knew that bit of gossip was beyond me. "Is it true he's dead? Why else would he let her leave the house?"

"He was fine two days ago," I promised, more than a little irked by the question. "She's the one who keeps _him_ confined, not the other way round," I added, though this was pointedly ignored.

"Isn't that the doctor who moved in last summer?"

This I had a definite answer to. "Doctor Barye, yes. He's been looking after Cecile. Wonderful man."

"Too good for the likes of her, anyway," one of the women remarked. I felt ashamed at my inclination to agree.

"Do you think they're really courting?"

I watched the two from afar, wondering at how the kind older gentleman doted on the woman no older than I was but who looked far more wizened than I. It was a strange but strong affection, as though she were a treasured but fragile object that might break at any moment.

Suddenly it was no small wonder Erik's visits had become more frequent and less troubled – If Madeleine ever noticed he had snuck away, I was certain she didn't mind the privacy with her new beau.

Certain now that Erik was not dead and merely making himself scarce around his mother's beau, I resolved to ask him about the matter the next time he visited.

I did not have to wait long. Before the end of the week Erik returned, this time bearing a pair of roses. He presented one to me with such pride I curtsied and hugged him tightly. "It's lovely, Erik! But where on earth did you get the money for roses this early in the season?"

"They're the first two roses of the season," he announced. "I've saved the bush in Madeleine's garden. I thought it was dead, but it was only neglected. I cut all the thorns off, do you think it would be safe to give to Cecile?"

His eagerness was utterly charming. Sometimes I wondered if he fancied himself more her first suitor than her brother. "Of course. She will love it."

While he double checked the flower to make sure it wouldn't harm my blue-eyed angel, I decided to ask what had been on my mind. "Do you know who I saw at mass on Sunday?"

Erik shook his head, but I could sense feigned ignorance.

"Your mother, and Cece's doctor, Doctor Barye. Do you have any idea what they were doing out together?"

"Taking communion, I expect," he said nonchalantly, sitting with Cecile on the floor and hugging her tightly when she toddled over to him. The progress she had made in her first year of life was remarkable to a new mother such as I; in no time at all she went from being completely unable to move without my help to being an unstoppable force in our home.

"Yes, I expect," I agreed calmly. "Strange that they should be out together in public though, don't you think? Doctor Barye seemed rather fond of Madeleine. Have they been seeing each other often?"

Erik hesitated, refusing to look at me before nodding. "Yes. He doesn't care for me much. He thinks I'm holding her back. That I would be better off at the abbey or the orphanage in Paris."

I frowned deeply and sat on the floor with him and Cecile. The girl toddled into my lap to play with the lace on my collar, and I hugged her in one arm while cupping Erik's pale little chin in my hand. "Erik, I would take you in myself before sending you to the abbey or an orphanage. I don't think it will be necessary, though. He's a single, older man gentleman; it may take him a while to get used to the idea of having a son, but he will get used to it. Children are a lot of responsibility. You're very old for your age, so you will be more responsibility more so. But if he loves Madeleine he will have to come to accept that the two of you come hand in hand. If he doesn't, then you don't have anything to worry about."


	9. Chapter 9

There a several days in my life I will never forget: The day I met Andre, the day he made me his wife. The day I first found out I was pregnant, and the day I found out I had lost the precious life inside me. The day Cece was born, and every milestone she made after.

These days I will not forget by choice. One day I cannot forget no matter how hard I have tried is the day Erik left my life.

Cecile was nearly a year and a half old, and spring was well under way. A light rain had just fallen the night before and the soil was perfect for planting the herb and vegetable garden I had been planning all winter. I had only just begun to turn the soil when a piercing cry sounded from inside the house.

I was on my feet in an instant, the primal urge to protect my darling girl aching in my chest. "Cece! Cece what's wrong?"

"It's all right, Collette, she's going to be fine," Andre promised over Cecilie's pained cries, and I made my way to his study and the source of all the noise.

To my surprise, they were not alone. Father Mansart was in the room, standing by Andre's work bench where he often prepared his own chemicals and saw smaller house pets our neighbors sometimes brought to him after hours. "What happened?" I demanded, crouching to inspect my baby as she held her hand protectively against her chest.

"She only put her hand on a bit of weak acid is all," Andre promised, and I looked up to him in alarm as Cecile moved into my arms for comfort. "After I bandage it, it shouldn't even scar."

"What were you doing with acid out where she might reach?" I asked incredulously; he knew as well as I did how curious she was and how likely she was to grab anything and everything in her reach. "What if she had put it in her mouth, or spilled it on her face?"

"I'm afraid it's my fault, Madame Aumer," Father Mansart said over Cece's cries. "I left my crucifix on the work bench. I should have known the baby would want to see it."

Cecile finally relinquished her hand, and I frowned at the bright red welt in the shape of a bar on her palm. When I kissed it to ease her crying, my lips grew uncomfortably hot. Alarmed, I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand and glanced up at the men. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I'm in the middle of an exorcism that's been going on for quite some time," the old priest explained. "The chemist is all the way in Rouen; your husband is the only man in town with the chemicals I need to continue."

Realization washed over me so violently I felt as though I were drowning. I stood, picking up Cecile as I did. "You use chemicals in the crucifix?"

"And the holy water," Father Mansart explained. "This isn't precisely a sanctioned exorcism. I'm doing it as a favor to the mother of the boy. I can't find any evidence of true possession or demonic presence, but the poor woman is at her wits end. Often when there is no possession simply going through the motions makes things better. When everyone believes the victim has been cured, the behavior stops."

"It's like a sugar pill," Andre added. "Very clever, really."

I stared between them, incredulously. "You're letting a little boy think he's been touched by the _devil _just because he has a difficult relationship with his mother? You're _burning_ him with acid to make _her_ life easier?"

"Collette, the boy has her convinced a statue is a newborn infant. He broke it, and she accused him of murder. She's not the only one terrified of him anymore; her fiancé, Doctor Barye is the one who came to me last night. He said the boy was speaking in tongues, throwing his voice around the room, filling it wall to wall with ear piercing shouts just because she told him they were going to be married."

Too many emotions hit me all at once. Had Erik lied to me about giving up his farce with the statue, or was Doctor Barye merely trying to excise the boy from his fiancé's life as Erik had once claimed? Regardless, what they were doing to Erik was wrong. By Father Mansart's description the boy was angry and terrified, and judging by the burn that still lingered on my lips likely in pain and panicking.

Whether Erik lied or not was not important now, I decided. The farce being played against Erik was a far greater evil than the one he had played against his mother, and had to be stopped.

I believe everything in life happens for a reason. Erik was strong and stubborn, but he was only a boy. He needed a voice, a protector. He was the reason I had lost my son, the reason my husband had pulled us from our lives in Paris to this small village so far from the life we knew. I was put on this earth and guided to this village to keep that little boy safe.

Andre seemed to sense my resolve. "Collette, don't you dare go over to that house. You've seen how violent he can be."

"How violent _he_ can be?" I asked, flabbergasted. "You don't think pressing acid into a little boy's flesh is violent?"

"A necessary evil," Andre soothed. "If he's not possessed, he's clearly mad. What sort of child goes about doing something like this to his own mother? Not to mention all the bizarre little gifts he's been bringing Cece this past year."

"Ribbons and toys are suddenly bizarre?"

"From a little boy to an infant he has no relation to whatsoever? Yes, Collette, they are bizarre!" Andre exclaimed, as though I too had lost my mind. Cecile was crying harder now at our fight than at the pain in her palm. With her still in my arms, I made my way to the door. "You're not taking her with you!" My husband commanded from behind me.

I did not even turn to address him as left. "Like hell am I leaving her with two men who would so easily harm a child," I spat, picking up my pace to as close to a run as I could manage in heeled boots on rain-softened soil outside.

When I arrived at the cottage, the situation was far more dire than I had imagined. The door was open and I let myself inside with no invitation. "Erik? Erik I-"

There he was, in the very first room of the house lying as still as the corpse his face portrayed him to be. Madeleine was on the floor by Erik's head, stroking back his hair. When she glanced up to me her eyes were filled with tears, and her voice broke. "God help me. Forgive me, poor, unhappy Erik…"

Every drop of blood froze in my veins when Madeleine clenched her son's hand in a wave of grief and he did not stir. "Oh God. God Almighty, he's –"

"He's not dead," Doctor Barye explained, suddenly standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen and drying his hands. "I don't know that he'll make it through the night, but for now he's alive. When Father Mansart returns we should have him read the boy his prayers, take his confession if he wakes."

Relief was quickly replaced by an anger strong enough to rival my self-loathing upon miscarrying my son. "_You_," I seethed, placing Cecile down and stalking towards Madeleine. "You killed him, you selfish, horrible woman! He _loved_ you! God only knows why; you treated him worse than you treated your dog. He had to deceive you into bringing any love into this house at all!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so –"

"Tell that to him!" I shouted, pointing to Erik's still form. Dear God, how little he looked. For three years he seemed to grow every time I saw him, now he seemed so, so small. It was then I noticed the swelling in his abdomen, and the dark slick spot on his shirt. "…He's bleeding. Why is he bleeding? What did you do?" I screeched, raising my hands to grab the woman in my fury before Doctor Barye stepped in and restrained me.

"That was not our doing," he insisted, strongly. "Erik tried to run away not an hour ago. He ran into some boys from the village. They killed Sasha last night – that's the reason for all of this," he added. "The boy went into a fit; started singing requiems for the beast like she was human, blaming Madeleine for her death when he was the one who put her outside."

"Who was it?" I demanded, with tears in my eyes. "Who did this to him? I'll call the police –"

"You can't call the police. Those boys who hurt him, do you know what they'll grow up to become? Police, soldiers, husbands, fathers, priests, veterinarians, doctors –" Madeleine said, trailing off. "Those boys aren't any different from the rest of the world. The police won't understand. They might even do more harm –"

"_More_ harm?" I demanded. "Erik is dying!"

"All the more reason to give him peace," Madeleine pleaded. I opened my mouth to protest before Cecile tugged on the back of my skirt and pointed to Erik from behind me, too nervous to come closer to the sofa but too curious to stay away.

My heart ached for her, and I crouched to be level with both she and Erik where he lay. "Oh, Cecile. Erik can't play with you today. He's not well," I tried to explain, knowing she could not possibly understand why the boy whose sole purpose to in her life had been to bring her joy would not acknowledge her.

"Sick?" She asked, and I nodded tearfully.

"Very sick."

She frowned, full lips and cheeks reflecting her upset. Without any prompting at all she pulled herself away from my skirts and made her way between Erik and Madeleine. Reaching as far as her little legs could manage even on tip-toe, Cece leaned forward and gently kissed Erik's masked cheek in the tender way only an infant can manage.

Madeleine let loose a sob and covered her mouth at the gesture as the girl came back and buried her face in my bosom for comfort.

Even when Father Mansart arrived and saw the change in the situation, I could not leave the boy who had become my son. When Andre showed up after sunset to demand my return to our own home and the recommencement of our own lives, I made clear my intent to stay by Erik's side until he was put in the ground. I kept calm while he screamed and shouted, calling me mad and a neglectful wife and mother. When he threatened to leave for his brother's house in Paris permanently, I shed no tears and let him leave the house without a word of protest.

My intent was to stay awake through the night, to be the one holding his hand when he passed out of our world and into Heaven's gates. I'm not sure at what point I fell asleep, but the next thing I realized the sun way high in the morning sky and Madeleine was sobbing quietly from the side of the sofa where she had refused to move all night.

It only took me a moment to realize the sofa was empty.

Suddenly I was fully awake. "Where is he? Is he all right?"

Doctor Barye shook his head. "We don't know."

Father Mansart spoke next. "I was the first to wake this morning, and he was already gone."

I remembered the night so long ago when Erik had first come to my home to tell me he was planning to run away, and how I had known through that action alone he was not sincere. Back then he was unhappy, even miserable… but he was not desperate enough to run away, only to reach out for any semblance of affection he could find in the lonely world.

It had taken a violent act of betrayal by the woman who should have loved him more than anyone and a brush with death, but Erik had finally done it. He had run away.

The thought of him alone and so small in a world so big terrified me, but also gave me hope. Our world was a dangerous one for his kind. He was too smart, too old beyond his years, to extraordinary for the world of man. Madeleine had been right; those boys would not have been the end of it. They would not stop until his was dead.

I prayed long and hard for his health and safety, all too aware of the severity of the wound he had fled with. By the grace of God and with a little luck, Erik might not only survive but finally have a chance to thrive in the world. His life would never be easy, but under his mother's roof he stood no chance at all of holding a career, falling in love, and living his life.

I was not immune to the selfishness loss brings. I would miss Erik and the happiness he brought me. I still had Cece to teach and guide through life, but a son was something different. I would never get to teach Erik how to treat a lady, how to woo and impress her, how to behave in polite society like other mothers get to teach their sons. I would never get to evaluate the woman he would with luck and good grace someday fall in love with and marry. I would not be there to listen to his woes and triumphs. I would not get to laugh at Erik's threatening speech to Cecile's future beaus, or wonder at their private jokes and conversations.

When I finally returned home, Andre had not left as he threatened. He sat at the dining table when I stepped inside, and when I began to cry he held me tightly for hours. When he apologized for shouting at me I forgave him, but did not ask for forgiveness for driving him to such actions.

I did not regret a moment of my time spent with Erik, and never would.

"He's not dead," I said while making he and Cecile supper, too sick from crying to carry an appetite.

"I know," Andre admitted quietly, and I glanced at him with a raised brow. Without saying another word he stood and moved to our bedroom, returning with a rose with a royal blue ribbon tied neatly around the stem.

I froze as the hole Erik left in my chest ached. "It's… it's one of Madeleine's roses."

"And the color ribbon he gave Cece," Andre added. "There's one in her crib too, with the same ribbon."

I cried again and did not stop until every last drop of water in my body was drained.

_-fin-_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Thank you all SO much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was my first foray into first-person writing. Much of this was based on Susan Kay's Phantom with a few deviations and many additions, so if you liked this I highly recommend giving that a read.

I am almost done with the first chapter of the sequel. I'm just working out more of the history of my leading lady before posting it so I have a better idea of where it's going. It will be a Drama/Romance between Erik as portrayed in this story and an OC who may or may not have made an appearance in this story. It will be up early tomorrow so stay tuned, and thanks again for reading. Love you all!


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